Now what?
He looked down at the little kid and caught his hands, wringing them out as his anxiety started to come back. What if his memories return? What if W.C.D. can tell I did it? Can they match the bruises with my hand? He rounded the building, looking for a side door. He found it, with a sigh of relief and told Vincent to come in with him.
"Hey, Jack?"
Jake started, gasping and hitting a wall as he spun to look at Vincent who was just as startled by his reaction. "My name is Jake." He muttered, looking away to hide his twitching expression.
"Oh…sorry. But…you know….you remind me of the story of Jack and the Beanstalk…"
Oh God…not this again. Please not this. Not this. Not this! His features stiffened.
"…can I call you Jack-bean?"
"NO!" Jake snarled, scaring the boy so much that he fell back into the wall and sunk to the floor. His mouth was hanging open as he stared at Jake. The teen saw the familiar sight and turned, hands tearing his hair. "Don't call me that…!" He whispered, unable to find his voice. "Don't call me that, brat. I'm not the fucking giant from that goddamn story!"
Vincent jerked at this and got to his feet quickly. "I didn't mean it like that! I didn't! Jack's the human anyway! He's not a giant! Your names sound alike…is all…" Vincent's voice fell and died at the sight of the stricken face he saw above him, the quivering lips, the jerking muscles…the tears. "I'm so…so sorry!" Vincent shook, scared of what he had done, he held onto the end of his sweatshirt for comfort. Big people weren't supposed to cry, in Vincent's mind. Only little kids could cry. When you grew up, you weren't able to make tears anymore. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I didn't mean to call you a bad name. People call me a freak all the time…it doesn't feel good to be made fun of. I didn't mean to…I swear."
I'm so stupid. Jake used his sleeves to clean his face and he cleared his throat. "You didn't…brat. Just some dust in my eye."
"Oh…" Vincent didn't believe him, but he didn't say anything about it. He looked about, and then back at Jake. "Is there a bathroom here? …I just realized… I really have to pee."
They stayed in the building until Jake's father came around to see why the lights were turned on. The man stared at his son who was sitting on a couch, head on his hand with his elbow on the armrest of the furniture, with the boy leaning against him, dead asleep. The man left to fetch Walter, and they both returned and pondered the odd picture. They saw the swollen, bruised face, but didn't think much of it. He had been playing with the bigger boys, it was bound to happen. They probably stepped on him or something and he ran off crying and got lost. He was just a quiet timid boy…who didn't talk much.
Jake woke up as his father shook his arm. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and then dropped his hands into his lap and looked at Vincent. He froze, unable to breathe. Walter was leaning down, close enough to touch, and he was looking intently at his nephew's face. The man was able to smell fear, and his eyes flicked up to Jake's, but the usually scowling face was calm.
"No need to be so stiff, boy. You found my lost nephew for me…" He actually smirked at the paling face and then turned his eyes back to Vincent. He flicked the blue bruise with his finger, expecting to get a yelp from the boy…not a yelp and a head butt.
Eyes stared as Walter reeled back and stood, blinking as his head wrung. Damn that brat has a hard head. He glared down at the wet eyes. Vincent was whimpering and clutching the throbbing injuries he had just made worse.
"Boy…you just hit me with your head." Walter spoke with a threatening growl, widening red eyes. Vincent looked up and gazed at his uncle, mouth open.
"Uncle?" He still had his hands on his head as he gawked at the scowling man. He realized he was in trouble so he bent his head, though it hurt to do so. "I'm sorry Uncle."
Walter growled but let it go, ignoring the man and the boy that were staring at him. "Where were you hiding, brat? I had to go looking for you…" Jake couldn't breathe, his heart was pounding in his ears, but he was saved when Vincent perked up.
"You were looking for me Uncle? Really?" Vincent's eyes stayed with Walter as the man's face became shadowed with thoughts. "I didn't think you would notice if I was gone for a while."
Jake gasped and retreated away from the couch as the slap rang in his ears. Vincent was dumbstruck, then he felt his bruises and he whimpered and bit his lip to stop the tears, afraid they would make his uncle mad….madder that is.
"You little shit! Is that what you were doing? You wanted to see if I'd notice you were gone?" He snarled, scaring Jake while his father stepped forward to calm him, but was unable to. Tears dripped from Vincent's nose as he blood touched his chin. His lip had reopened.
"N…no. I didn't…I…" The boy mumbled, trying to hide his fear and his tears… Why wouldn't they stop?
"Then you decided to go off on your own? What were you doing?" Walter wasn't yelling anymore, but it was easy to read the anger still flickering in his eyes.
"I…I was only gone for a little bit, Uncle. A couple hours, right? I…don't remember…" His lips were red now, and he cringed at the taste of his own blood.
No one was able to speak. They stared at the boy, cold with confusion. Jake was suffering from his chills again, feeling that his end was near. Walter looked at his nephew and watched the blood pearl on his chin and then stop and slip down over his throat. "You were gone for a couple hours?" He spoke quietly.
"Yeah…? I think…"
Vincent cowered into the couch when his uncle bent down and held his face. He squeezed his eyes and managed to stop the tears. Walter looked at his lip, touching it lightly. Vincent whined, and the man instantly pinched down on the wound, drawing out a cry. "Be quiet. You need to accept that it hurts and then ignore it, brat. You don't cry and you don't make a sound." Vincent was quiet, though he felt ill now, and he opened his eyes. Walter rubbed the blood from his hands, working it into his black gloves so that it seemed to disappear. Then he turned his attention back to his nephew's head. He eyed the large bruise and then clucked his tongue.
"They got you good, boy. A good solid hit to the head…no wonder you can't remember anything." He stood as the bemused boy blinked up at him. "What day is it today?"
Vincent blinked again and then hesitantly replied. "It's Thursday, Uncle. Did you forget your days of the week?"
Jake's father smiled grimly at this while Walter scowled, tempted to flick his bruise again. He decided to do it, and to his satisfaction, Vincent swallowed the pain.
"It's Friday, Vincentimir."
Vincent showed an expression of horror that his uncle couldn't understand, then the boy looked for the window and gaped at how dark it was. "No!"
Walter hated being confused, so he barked at the child. "Shut up! What are you so worked up about, boy?"
Vincent looked at him and then the floor, mumbling something no one heard. Walter ordered him to speak up as Jake realized what was wrong. Vincent spoke. "Thursday was my birthday, Uncle. I missed my birthday…"
"Oh." Walter looked down at the fretting little boy, unable to understand why this was such a big deal. "How old are you then?"
"Eleven."
Walter paused and then nodded slightly. "Alright…good for you." He sighed and looked at his audience with a scowl. "What?" He singled out Jake's father whose son was behind him, leaning on a table. The man had a strange smile on his face.
"You know…C.D….you're not the greatest uncle in the world, but you're not the worst."
Walter frowned and was about to protest when Vincent did it for him, holding his own frown. "My uncle is the best uncle out there. Better than any uncle!"
The men stared at him while Jake closed his eyes and tried to disappear. Everything he saw only made his guilt worse. He had fed the boy some snack food they had in the hangout and then they had retired to the couch to wait things out…and then fallen asleep, he guessed. The boy drank two glasses of water and every gulp had made him cringe. Now the boy was…acting
like a little boy he guessed…a bit immature and naïve, though, for his age. But it churned his stomach…he volunteered to go home first. His father bid him goodnight while Walter just glanced at him, and then Jake tried to leave before Vincent could say anything, but the brat was too eager. The boy scampered up to him and gave him a hug, surprising Walter and causing the other man to chuckle.
"Bye Jack-bean."
Jake bit his tongue and nodded, quickly leaving before anyone could begin commenting on the new name. He didn't care anymore.
Jack was the human, after all.
Walter took the boy to a doctor he was personally acquainted with, aware of the consequences that would result from taking the child to a hospital. Someone would call child (welfare) services on him…and they would evaluate his house, which would probably lead to jail time…and worse things, and they would ultimately take the little boy away and put him in a foster home. This kid was a piece of his flesh and blood. He was not willing to hand him over to strangers who would, more than likely, abuse the freakish looking child. Walter wasn't a monster, at least, not a whole monster. There was some wasting thing that resembled a heart, left inside his chest.
Now little Vincentimir was sitting on one of the mismatched chairs, gazing at the black mummy hand on the shelf with one eye. The other was covered partially by an icepack swaddled in a paper towel he was using to coax down the swelled lump on his head. His pale skin had reddened from the cold, but the boy didn't seem to notice as he looked at the hand, nibbling on a piece of bread. Peanut butter was smeared over the slice, so the boy ate it slowly, careful not to make a mess as he had already taken a shower and was wearing a large shirt along with some pajama pants as his night clothes. Walter appeared the moment the bread was gone and he told the boy to get some rest as he removed the icepack from the boy's head and left to throw it in the sink, planning to take care of it in the morning. He was too tired to do much else at the moment. The man sighed and checked on the boy one last time before going to his own bedroom and shutting the door.
Vincent turned off the light and curled up under his blanket, his futon positioned on the rug by the table with mismatched chairs. With a wide yawn he gingerly lowered his numbed face to his pillow and fell into an exhausted sleep.
Hours later, fear rattled through the boy's small frame as he bolted out of his slumber and held himself, trembling under his blanket, his eyes wide with fear. He had had a terrible…and very REAL nightmare. The boy panted in order to catch his breath, ducking his head into his knees to stop himself from seeing the memories play out in his mind…again.
He was scared and confused, in need of something sure and comforting. So he went to his uncle's room and opened the unlocked door timidly, ready to bolt if the man told him to leave. Nothing happened. Curious, the boy peered at the bed as he ventured forward, taking silent steps. Vincent blinked, his lips twitching as he saw that Walter was asleep. Alright, good. He thought and moved around to the left side of the bed, carefully pulling back the covers and spreading his weight out on the mattress to make the indent he made, smaller. Vincent was good at this. He had done this many a time before, sneaking into his parents' bedroom to sleep by his mother when it was cold or when he had dreamed about something scary. His presence would often surprise the woman in the morning.
I wonder if Uncle will be surprised too?
The boy smiled slightly with this thought, finding an extra pillow and claiming it for himself. He fell asleep.
Survival does strange things to people. It revives animalistic senses and instincts within them, anything that would give them an edge in a threatening situation. Walter…was one such case. He turned over in his sleep and instantly felt the foreign presence, and his hand, out of its desire to preserve its owner's life, grasped the threat and forced into a helpless state. A vice constricted the small throat with cruel fingers, and, if not for the smallness or the startled, childish squeak, he would have broken the trespasser's neck without hesitation. Blue eyes gazed down at the wavering white of the face below him and saw the frightened red eyes. Walter let go and leaned back, disoriented and staring at the coughing boy that gave a trembling whine and hid from him in the blankets, curling up.
Walter continued to stare until he could scowl and rub his face tiredly. He hissed at the child, knocking it with his knee as it remained in the blankets. "What are you doing?" A glare stayed with the lump as Vincent didn't come out. A knee rammed into an injury this time and the boy gasped a shriek he tried to muffle. Shaking and terrified of more pain, the boy threw back the covers and sat up, gazing at his uncle with a meekness that resembled a chastised puppy. Walter scowled at this and shook his head. The boy had horrible luck…getting the snot wacked out of him and then nearly strangled the next night, the man shook his head again and sighed, closing his eyes, reclining on his arms as he propped himself up. His head went back, closed eyes directed to the ceiling. The boy had yet to answer.
Vincent finally mumbled. "I…had a nightmare."
Eyes went to the boy. "I don't care."
There was a quiet sigh that Vincent let escape before he could stop himself. He had been afraid of such an answer…now he felt like no one cared, nowadays. Not since his parents had died. He hung his head and muttered an apology for waking up his uncle. He started to leave, hesitating as he hoped his uncle would pity him and let him stay. The man didn't. Walter only told him to hurry up, so the boy did and closed the door firmly behind him.
He wanted to cry, but what would come of it? Nothing. Crying was stupid, Vincent thought as he buried himself under his blankets and shut his eyes, biting his hurt lip so that it bled and lances of pain would shoot through his nerves. Then, with the iron contaminating his sense of taste, the boy forced himself to sleep.
There was a change in the boy that should have been noticed, but no one paid enough attention or knew the boy well enough to see it. Vincent was quiet. That wasn't different. But he had a sense of bitterness about him now, and his eyes were sharper. His behavior had made others believe that he was small and younger than he really was. Now, if anyone had chosen to look, they would have seen that he was the proper height for his age, perhaps even taller than the average height. He was skinny but he also had a sense of sinewy strength in his limbs that allowed him to pull his own weight up vertical walls. But Vincent was not entirely different. He was more cautious and pessimistic than before, but he was still shy and rather ignorant of the world.
But with more beating, as with any kind of animal, he would become mean and he would become manipulative and sly. He would, if the beating and neglect continued. If he continued to have friends that were merely presences he haunted like a spirit, and an uncle that forced him to fend for himself and pushed the child away if it ever sought any affection or closeness from the only family he knew.
But for now, he was still shy and ignorant, not one ounce of meanness in his body. He was only a bit more bitter.
Vincent watched Jake across the darkened room. He didn't know what the teenagers were up to, but they had shoed him away when he had gotten too close. All he knew was that it smelled awful and he didn't want to play their game, even though they seemed to be having fun. Jake wasn't participating, along with two other boys who were dealing out a game of BS instead. The red eyes stared at the broad back, sending shivers down Jake's already traumatized nerves, leaving a twitch in his brow that went unnoticed by most. Jake finally pretended to stretch his arms, actually peering around anxiously to find whatever presence it was that was bothering him. It took two false stretches before he caught sight of the boy.
The red eyes were glimmering like flames in the gloom, freezing the teen in place. Vincent licked his hurt lip, blinking before getting up from the arm of the couch, where he had been sitting. He went to the table and picked out his own chair. The teens frowned at him and then scowled at one of the boys when he told 'Max' that he could play the next game. Jake fidgeted as he continued to play, keeping his gaze from the pale c
hild. Vincent watched the pile of cards in the middle of the table grow, and he narrowed his eyes when one of the boys said he was putting down a Jack of Clubs.
"BS"
The boy froze while all eyes moved to Vincent as he looked at the frozen teen. He blinked innocently, thinking that this was an odd reaction. He looked around and shrunk into his seat. "I thought he was lying." The boy mumbled.
The others stared at him and then the card. They agreed that no form of punishment would be in order, so they could turn the card over just to quench their curiosity. They paused and then congratulated little Vincent for catching the lie. Then they continued to play again.
A bead of sweat trickled over Jake's temple. He couldn't sit still for another moment. He excused himself and gave Vincent his cards, hoping the boy would stay and play while he disappeared. To his discomfort, the other boys added his cards to the pile and told Vincent to wait for the next game….so the boy chose to follow Jake out the door and into the back alleys.
Jake led the way, moving to an isolated area while Vincent's silent steps came behind him. The teen stopped without turning around. How could such a little brat make him so damn uneasy? It had to be those red eyes… He sighed at the voice, a shallow breath he almost didn't notice.
"Why did you beat me up?"
Jake tried to swallow. "What are you talking about?" He questioned. It was a sad attempt, in his opinion. Vincent didn't say anything. When Jake turned around he saw that the boy was staring at his black sneakers, moving one to tap a rock with his foot.
"You beat me up…and then I woke up in a dumpster…" His voice became quiet as he began to move his other sneaker. "Do you hate me?"
The teen inhaled through his teeth and watched the black hair that swept before the black and blue bruise. "No…you're making a mistake, kid. I didn't…beat you up."
"You're lying. You hit me…twice."
Jake shivered, fear and hate beginning in his chest. "No I didn't!"
Trapped with a Way Out Page 55